


Strange Memory

by ourladyofmanycats



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, As in hoplessly in love, Christmas, F/M, Fitz's head, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Gen, Holidays, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Internal Monologue, Stream of Consciousness, vaguely romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourladyofmanycats/pseuds/ourladyofmanycats
Summary: After Fitz rescues Simmons from Maveth, he tries to make her Christmas special, even if he does feel like a very silly child. Angst, ya'll.





	Strange Memory

In the wake of what was explicitly the worst year that Fitz had ever had the displeasure of living, he wanted everything to be perfect for Christmas. He had finally gotten Jemma back from the void, gotten her home after everyone had been sure that he couldn’t, and she deserved the best he could conjure. 

Life on an alien planet was the hardest thing he could imagine. But he knew the pain of losing a loved one too well. That was not so strange of a memory. Combined, there could be nothing as deadly to the heart. Well, other than the shock of real critical injury and he was thankful such was not the case.

 

It was likely that it wouldn’t snow, and worse that even if it did, they wouldn’t see it from the window of their bedrooms as they were as far underground as the United States could manage at the time it was built.It was just as likely, he mused, that this was the last year that he would be able to pretend that there was a chance that Jemma could really be his. Even if it was only for a moment. The same way that he had felt just a couple of weeks before when he had kissed her and then gone back to his room terrified and angry. Even when he’d watched the videos Jemma had recorded for him on her phone. 

 

He looked at the tinsel garland in his hand, staring at each loose end as if it were the threads of the universe, and sat. Each piece of tinsel was a fragment of a fragment, a thousand potentials that could have replaced this world that they inhabited. Not string theory, but something else, just as theoretical. They could have met in a coffee shop or a video store or a corner waiting for a bus. But they hadn’t. Fitz sat down on the bed, and laid the garland in his lap, completely convinced that it was a stupid thing to think that he could ride the edge of normalcy. It wasn’t normal; none of it was normal. It was trickery of the highest order.

 

It was just as foolish to remember there were bigger things to attend to with Will and with all the things that were going on, and there he stood with a box of Christmas decorations like a silly child. But Jemma would like it. He hoped she would, anyway.

 

Fitz sighed and stood again, trying to picture the look of cheer that might cross her face when she opened the door. So it was settled. He would hang the lights and the garland, huddle the penguin figurines that wore sweaters on top of her dresser beside the things she removed from the storage boxes the team had put away once she came back to the face of this Earth. And the tiny Christmas tree would go on her bedside table next to the book she had started but not read, too busy. Or distracted.

 

And below that, in it’s small wrapped box, he would place the set of earrings he had bought for her in the market in Morocco. He was confident at that time, that he could rescue her from wherever she had gone--rescue  _ was _ the right word-- and she would come back and maybe…

 

He surveyed the room. An adequate amount of holiday paraphernalia covered the space. On any other day, he might have called her in to look or set up an elaborate and harmless scheme to draw her in, but on that day, he didn’t. Instead, Fitz  took a deep breath and left the room, closing the door behind him. His hand lingered on the handle, stuck by magnetics or some impossible irrefutable force.

 

“Fitz?” Jemma asked. She had been walking down the hall. “Were you looking for me?” 

 

“No, I was, um, I’m heading to the lab to do some more reading,” he lied, his hand was instinctively drawn to the back of his head. “I’ll see you in there later,” he finished, and walked away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 


End file.
